Butterfly Effect
by SunnyZim
Summary: A stranger who had had a little too much to drink and an argument with his father was all it took for Sam to end up in the hospital, leaving his family struggling to deal with the fallout. Hurt!Sam, Protective!Dean. Preseries. On hiatus.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Well, here is the first chapter of the new story I promised you! I've got five chapters written so far, so figured it was alright to post the first one as I miss hearing from you guys! Can't wait to hear your thoughts on this chapter!:-D Dean is 22 and Sam is 18 in this story.

**A/N 2: **For some reason, no one could access this story so I am reposting it - sorry if you get two alerts in your inbox and I hope to goodness that it works this time!

**Disclaimer: **Don't own them.

**Summary: **A stranger who had had a little too much to drink and an argument with his father was all it took for Sam to end up in the hospital, leaving his little family struggling to deal with the fallout. Hurt!Sam, Protective!Dean. Preseries.

**Butterfly Effect**

**Chapter One**

Dean was in a good mood. A _very _good mood. Having just hustled several men out of three hundred or so dollars and been on the receiving end of a promise from a very fine piece of tail, he could not be more pleased with himself in fact. Making his way out of the noisy bar, he grinned to himself, feeling lighter than he had in days. So light in fact that he failed to see the rather large, rather drunk man before he walked into him.

"Watch where you're going, short stuff."

The man reeked of cheap beer but was not ill-dressed. Probably an alcoholic, Dean thought, even as he backed away, not wanting to ruin his evening by getting into a fight. Besides, he wanted to look pretty for later…Dean Winchester was never one to disappoint the ladies. Fortunately, the man seemed too drunk to do more than breathe alcohol-infused threats, and Dean watched with amusement as he weaved towards a black sedan. It was amazing that a man of such bulk could manoeuvre himself at all when drunk. Smirking to himself when the man stumbled heavily into the car door, he turned to make his own way to the Impala. The night was still young and he had a beautiful woman waiting for him…

~ O ~ O ~ O ~

Frank Harding was in a bad mood. A _very _bad mood. Susan had found out about his affair with Lucy and was filing for divorce, his boss was breathing down his neck about those papers that had been due two weeks ago and now some idiot had had the nerve to walk into him. Turning his large bulk with considerable effort, he came face to face with a disgustingly handsome young man in his early twenties and sneered.

"Watch where you're going, short stuff."

A look of anger and defiance crossed the young man's face briefly, before a more calculating expression took its place. Putting his hands up in the universally recognized gesture of placation, he backed away from Frank. Probably didn't want his pretty face to get ruined, Frank thought derisively. However, even through his drunken haze, Frank noticed that the man was well-built and had a dangerous air about him that would not be good to provoke further. Besides, the cheap alcohol that he had consumed in copious amounts was starting to make its presence felt and really all he wanted right now was to get home and into bed. A sadly cold and empty bed. Turning back towards the entrance, Frank made his way towards his car, concentrating hard on keeping himself relatively upright. Reaching the door, he stumbled into it with exhaustion from the effort and then righted himself somewhat as he fumbled for his keys. His fingers felt as though they had rubber gloves on them and it took him a while before he had enough purchase on his keys to unlock the driver's side. Getting behind the wheel, he closed the door and started up, blinking a few times as the dashboard swam in front of his eyes. All he could think about right now was getting home and into his bed. Beyond that, there was nothing.

~ O ~ O ~ O ~

"I'm really sorry, John. I just can't make it – Doc says to stay in bed for at least a week and even after that I probably won't be up to much. Maybe Sam can help?"

John Winchester heaved a sigh and ended the call, fighting the urge to throw his phone against the wall. This was a big hunt and he had counted on Caleb to help him and Dean out. Whilst Sam was a damn good hunter he hadn't wanted to include his youngest in this one. Werewolves were nasty, unpredictable things and he didn't want Sam to get in the way…or get hurt. But Caleb's recent injury left him with no choice. Sighing once again, he got up and made his way to the boys' bedroom where Sam was doing homework. This was not going to go down well.

~ O ~ O ~ O ~

_Thus, after reading this passage, Jane Austen leaves us with a picture of an Elizabeth who is totally prejudiced against Darcy and will take any opportunity to tease him and form a worse opinion of him, whilst Darcy is filled with conflict on several fronts._

Sam put down his pen and rubbed a hand over his face. He was tired and sick to death of Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy's arguments and thinly-disguised flirting, but this essay was due tomorrow and was worth a third of his grade, so he could not afford to simply rush through it. Besides, good grades were his only ticket out of this life he never wanted and with finals approaching he needed to put his nose to the grindstone. Thank goodness Caleb was going on this next hunt so he didn't have to. He needed all the free time he could get.

The bedroom door banged open and Sam looked up to see his father entering with a stormy expression on his face. Instantly tensing in response, Sam sat up straighter, wondering what he had done to tick his father off now.

"Caleb's been injured so you're gonna have to come on this hunt with us, Sammy," John started without preamble.

Sam frowned. "But Dad, I've got finals coming up. You _know _that. I need the time to study. Isn't there anyone else who could help out? Bobby maybe or Pastor Jim?"

John's eyebrows creased further as he listened to Sam's complaints and he felt his already high blood pressure go up another notch. Didn't he get that this was important? People could _die _and he was worried about some stupid finals? It was not like his grades were that important anyway – you didn't need a degree to hunt.

"Bobby and I aren't on speaking terms Sam, and Pastor Jim has other things he needs to deal with right now. _You _are my son and I wouldn't ask it if I didn't need you."

"But Dad –"

"No buts Sam. You're coming on this hunt and that's final." John's voice brooked no argument but Sam wasn't having any of it. He stood up abruptly, pushing his chair out with unnecessary violence.

"NO. You _promised_ and this is important. I _need _to get good grades. I won't be stuck in this hellhole of a life forever!" Sam could have bit his tongue off as that last part slipped out. He hadn't meant to reveal his hand so soon…

John's face went white and then red as the blood rushed back in.

"Sam, your mother _died _for you and you just want to throw that away? What about her, huh? What about her sacrifice?" Even as John said it, he knew it was a low blow, but _damn it, _he was sick to death of Sam arguing with him every chance he got. Why couldn't the boy just for once do what John said without complaint? Why did he have to fight every command and be so _stubborn_?

It was Sam's turn to go white. "Mom did not die so that I could have _this _life – do you think she would have wanted this for us? Moving from place to place, never having a real home, throwing our lives away on some stupid quest for vengeance? Huh? I don't care what you think, but I do not believe Mom would have chosen this for us and I am _not _going to stay in this life forever. I need to get out and first chance I get, that's exactly what I'm going to do."

John felt a rage beyond rational proportions flood his veins. These days every conversation between him and his youngest tended to escalate out of proportion and turn into a fight but listening to his youngest talk about Mary as if he knew her better than John did….no. Just no. He had done the best he could with the bad lot life had dealt him and he would _not _have that brought into question by some young whippersnapper. Even if said whippersnapper was his son. Even if he knew deep down that his son was right, which actually made it worse.

John knew that if he didn't act quickly he was going to do something he would regret later, and tempting as it might be right now, he did not want to physically hurt his son. So raising his hand, he did the only thing he could think of right now and pointed it, shaking slightly, towards the front door.

"Get out Sam."

Sam blanched even further if that was possible, sensing that he had overstepped some invisible line. "Wh-what?" His voice trembled with mixed emotions.

"I said. Get. Out. Now Sam! Before I do something I regret."

Not needing to be told twice, Sam scrambled for the door, almost tripping in his haste to be out of his father's angry presence. Fumbling with the door handle, he pulled the door open and stepped out into the warm night. Inside, John sank down on to one of the boys' beds, his sudden flash of anger already fading. Dropping his head into his hands, he wondered what he had done.

~ O ~ O ~ O ~

Sam trudged along the sidewalk, not really looking where he was going. His gut was a mix of emotions – anger at his father and at himself for letting out his secret, hurt for what his father had said to him and anxiety about what would happen when he went back and what Dean would say when he found out. Whilst Dean was more understanding than his Dad, Sam knew that Dean hated to be stuck between them, always having to play middle man, and Sam also knew that Dean would not take kindly to the news that he was planning on leaving them. For Dean, family was important above all things and therefore he would never understand Sam's desire to leave. To him, Sam's leaving would always be personal, and Sam didn't know if he could ever explain it to Dean in a way that he would get.

Sam's mind was so full of all these thoughts that he didn't notice the black sedan weaving all over the road at great speed until it hit him and his concerns disappeared in a blinding flash of light.

**To be continued…**

**A/N: **I would love to hear your thoughts so far!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Wow, what an amazing response! Thank-you so much for all your encouraging reviews, favourites and alerts - they inspired me so much that since I published the first chapter, I have written chapter six and part of chapter seven! So I thought it was about time I published chapter two:-D This chapter is told entirely from an outsider POV, which I hope you will not mind - I felt it was necessary for what I wanted to achieve. Fear not, we will be back to Dean's POV in the next chapter:-D This chapter is dedicated to MysteryMadchen - remember you are not alone;-)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them.

**Butterfly Effect**

**Chapter Two**

Sylvie Hayworth sighed as she concentrated on driving down the poorly lit road. It had been a long day at the hospital where she worked as a nurse and she was desperate to get home, have some supper and collapse in a heap on her soft double bed. One of her patients had died today after a second heart attack and all she wanted right now was to put her work behind her for a few hours. Having worked as a nurse for several years now she had grown accustomed to being constantly surrounded by death and suffering, but it had never become easy. She still struggled at times to separate her personal life from her work and she had had to learn coping mechanisms so that she wouldn't experience burnout. One of these methods was cooking elaborate meals for herself and she couldn't wait to get home to try out the new recipe she had recently sourced online.

Sylvie was so absorbed in her musings that she almost didn't see the black sedan coming towards her at top speed. The road was not an important highway and had very poor lighting and the driver of the sedan had not switched his headlamps on, apparently being too drunk, judging by the fact that he was driving on the wrong side of the road. In fact, she probably wouldn't have seen it at all until it was too late, if it wasn't for the fact that due to the poor lighting she had her brights on and the light from them reflected off the black surface of the rapidly approaching car. With an audible gasp, she tightened her grip on the wheel and quickly swerved to the left and out of the way of the sedan, which continued past her, a hairsbreadth away, the intoxicated driver totally oblivious. Heart racing at the close call, Sylvie pulled back into her lane and stopped the car on the side of the road, switching the engine off with trembling hands. It was then that she noticed the person lying in a crumpled heap on the side of the road.

~ O ~ O ~ O ~

Sylvie approached the body with caution, fully aware that this was a lonely back road at night and she was a woman all by herself. Slipping her hand into her coat pocket, she wrapped her fingers around her can of mace, ready to spray it if this turned out to be nothing more than an elaborate ruse to trick her and make her vulnerable.

The person did not try to attack her however. Indeed, once Sylvie got closer and could see him better she doubted that he would be capable of anything at the present moment. Lying on his side, his face covered in blood, he appeared to be unconscious. Sylvie's nurse instincts immediately kicked in and dropping to her knees beside the young man, for young man he was, she swiftly assessed his breathing, airways and level of consciousness. Satisfied that he was breathing, albeit unconscious, she progressed to a careful triage. She could see immediately that his nose was broken and he had several cuts and abrasions on his face, however most of the damage seemed to be to his legs and torso. His right shoulder appeared to be dislocated and when she ran her fingers over his chest she could feel that several of his ribs were fractured. She couldn't tell whether there was any organ damage as of yet as his injuries seemed recent and it was therefore too early to tell. His right leg was at an awkward angle, with the shin bone protruding in a bloody mess and there was a fair amount of blood although no major arteries appeared to have ruptured. In short, he was in a bad way, probably the result of a hit and run. Thinking of the black sedan, Sylvie felt a chill in her gut when it occurred to her that she could have been the one lying in a broken mess on the road right now. Shoving that thought aside, she pulled out her phone with fingers slippery with the young man's blood, whilst trying to stem the sluggish bleeding with her other hand.

The phone rang and a woman's voice answered, disturbingly detached considering the content of her words.

"_911. What's your emergency?"_

~ O ~ O ~ O ~

Lincoln Memorial Hospital was busy at the best of times, being a large state hospital which took in many waifs and strays who were without medical insurance. Frequently there were not enough beds and the less serious cases had to be shunted off elsewhere. It was not a pleasant job, but someone had to do it. As the glass doors to the ER slid open however and paramedics hurried an unconscious young man through on a gurney Dr Steven Davis knew that this was not going to be one of those times. His heart sank as he took in the youth of the injured man. He was just a boy, round about his own Jack's age, dark hair tousled and wet with blood. In that moment, Dr Davis made up his mind to do whatever it took to fix him. This boy was someone's _son_.

~ O ~ O ~ O ~

Sylvie watched helplessly as the trauma team took over, led by Dr Steven Davis, a good friend of hers. Even in this short amount of time, she had begun to feel responsible for this boy whose name she didn't even know. He was so _young_ and innocent looking. She desperately hoped that he made it. With a pang she remembered another innocent young boy, one who had not made it. For the second time that evening, Sylvie consciously shoved an unpleasant thought aside so that she could focus on the job at hand. There had to be _something _she could do; the boy could be someone's little brother.

With a flash of inspiration, Sylvie rushed over to where the young man's belongings had been placed after he had been hurriedly divested of them. Searching through them she found what she was looking for – his cell phone! Thank God he had it on him at the time! Quickly unlocking it, she pressed speed dial 1 and waited.

A man's voice answered, sounding slightly out of breath and annoyed.

"_Sammy? This had better be good."_

Sylvie paused. The young man's name was _Sammy_. Feeling even more responsible for him now that she knew his name, she took a breath and steeled herself for what she had to do.

"Um. Hi. May I know whom I am speaking to?" She always became extra formal when she was nervous.

"_Who the hell is this and what have you done with my brother?"_ The man's voice had gone from annoyed to downright ticked off.

Sylvie felt her heart sink even as her gut tightened; 'Sammy' _was _someone's little brother.

"Uh, sorry. This is Sylvie Hayworth. I'm phoning from the Lincoln Memorial Hospital on your brother's phone - "

"_WHAT? Where's Sam? Is he alright? Why do you have his phone?" _The man had bypassed annoyed and was now frantic.

"Sam's had an accident. I think it was a hit and run. I found him on the side of the road and an ambulance brought him here. The trauma team is looking him at now."

"_Is he going to be OK?" _His voice cracked on the last word and Sylvie felt a wrench in her gut and a strengthening in her resolve.

"I don't know, sir. But we are going to do our best to help him. I promise you that."

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line, punctuated by heavy breathing. Then -

"_I'm on my way." _

Dialtone.

**To be continued...**

**A/N: **I would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter!:-D


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Thanks once again for all your lovely reviews - they keep me writing! I just finished Chapter Eight, so felt I could post Chapter Three now - I have made a little pact with myself that I will only post a new chapter once I have written a new chapter - it keeps me motivated!

It would seem that some of you had problems accessing chapter two or could access it but couldn't review - alas, the website still seems to have all sorts of issues at the moment:-( Let me just say here that I am NOT going to delete this story, so if you can't access it, it isn't because I've deleted it, so keep persevering! Also, if at any point it starts to give issues again, please could you let me know so that I can notify the website managers - they seem to fix it more quickly that way;-) Phew, this is a LONG author's note - on with the story and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**Butterfly Effect**

**Chapter Three**

Dean was a naturally fast driver, but he could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he had driven dangerously fast. One time was when John had been thrown into a metal stake by a poltergeist and was in grave danger of bleeding out on the smooth leather, another time was when Sam's appendix had ruptured and he was writhing in agony in the back whilst Dean floored it. Neither of those times came even close to this, however. On those occasions, Sam had been _with _him, either shouting directions from the passenger seat or groaning in pain from the back. Now Dean was alone in the Impala whilst Sam could be dying in some strange hospital with no one there to fight for him.

The drive to Lincoln Memorial Hospital was thirty minutes. Dean made it in fifteen. Not bothering to look where he parked, he simply slammed on the brakes, switched off the engine and leapt out of the car, virtually in a single fluid movement. Racing to the sliding glass doors, he ran into the reception area, looking around frantically, half expecting to see Sam there somewhere.

Sam was not there however and realizing this, Dean stalked over to the receptionist.

"Where is my brother?"

"I'm sorry, sir, I don't think I know wh– "

"My _brother_, Sam Winchester – where the hell is he?"

"Let me just check our records, sir…Winchester, is that with an 'e'?"

Dean felt like strangling the annoyingly calm woman behind the desk; clearly she had been picked for her phlegmatic nature.

"_Yes, _it's with a freakin' 'e'! Now tell me where he is, or so help me God -"

"I'm afraid he's not in our records, sir. Are you sure – "

Dean stormed off before she could finish, heading for a door labelled 'Emergency Room'. Before he could go through however, a burly man in a smart uniform took him gently but firmly by the arm.

"I'm sorry sir, but you can't go through there. Only authorised personnel are allowed in there."

Dean inwardly fumed whilst he wrenched his arm out of the man's grip.

"My _brother _could be in there! I need to find him and no one in this freakin' hospital is helping! He could be _dying!_"

"I'm sorry sir, but I can't let you – "

"Oh damn you all!" Dean forced his way past the man only to be grabbed in a much tighter grip this time and forcibly dragged back out again and towards the entrance of the hospital. He felt his heart sink even as he struggled desperately. This could not be happening. He had to get to Sam. What if Sam woke up and he wasn't there?

He decided to try a different tactic. Looking up at the man with pleading green eyes, he swallowed his pride and begged.

"Please. I need to see my brother. I got a phone call saying he was here but no one seems to know what I'm talking about and I don't know what to do."

The man's face softened almost imperceptibly. "I'll see what I can do sir, but you have to stay calm, alright?"

Dean nodded, defeat tasting like bile on his tongue. "Alright."

The security guard gave him one more warning look, then let him go and made his way over to the desk. Another woman was there now, talking to the receptionist in urgent tones. Dean noted absently that she was pretty in a quiet sort of way, with shoulder length blonde hair and soft brown eyes. The security guard seemed to be listening to their conversation and now joined in, gesturing towards where Dean was standing by the entrance. The blonde woman turned and made her way towards him. She looked tired and a bit nervous.

"Hi, I'm sorry to bother you sir, but are you Sam's brother?"

Dean let out a breath he did not know he had been holding.

"_Yes. _Where is Sam? No one seems to know what I'm talking about and the receptionist said he wasn't on the records -"

"Yes. I'm so sorry about that, Mr - ?"

"Winchester. Dean."

"Dean. Sam had no ID on him so we didn't know his full name. He was in the records as John Doe. It's my fault because I didn't realise that you would get here so quickly. I'm terribly sorry that this happened and caused you such distress. I've just come from being with your brother. He's just come back from radiology and is being prepped for surgery right now, but if you want to see him before he goes into theatre I will see what I can do."

Dean looked at the compassionate young woman before him and at that moment she seemed like the most beautiful being in creation.

"Please. I need to see him. If he wakes up and I'm not there – "

"I quite understand. Let me see what I can do."

Dean watched as the woman, Sylvie, he realised belatedly, made her way through the door he had tried to forcibly enter only moments before. Minutes later, she was back with an older man whom Dean assumed must be a doctor, at her side.

"Dean, this is Dr Steven Davis. Sam is under his care at the moment."

Dr Davis smiled kindly and held out his hand to Dean, who shook it.

"Dean, let's not waste time on pleasantries. Come and see your brother."

Feeling wholehearted relief at meeting someone who finally _got _it, Dean nodded and followed the two through the door.

~ O ~ O ~ O ~

Sam was a mess. The trauma team had cleaned him up as much as possible but he still looked terrible; face and nose swollen and bruised, cuts everywhere, shoulder dislocated, bone sticking out of his leg. As a hunter, Dean had seen some pretty nasty things in his life, but none of them even came close to his little brother, broken and unconscious on that bed.

Dean leaned over Sam, reaching out to lightly touch his hand, which was resting on the sheet.

"Oh Sammy, what's happened to you?"

Dr Davis cleared his throat. "We think it was a hit and run. Sylvie found him on the side of the road and the pattern of his injuries is pretty typical of blunt trauma."

It took a while for the doctor's words to sink in, but when they did, Dean felt a fire start to burn in the pit of his stomach. "A hit and run? Someone _drove_ into my little brother and then _left _him there to die?"

Dean saw Sylvie shift uncomfortably out of the corner of his eye and turned on her.

"You know something, don't you? Who did this to my brother? Tell me!"

The petite nurse paled under his wrath. "I-I don't know for certain. It's just that, when I was driving home, I was nearly in an accident myself with a drunk driver. Judging by Sam's injuries, I would say he had been hit recently and there was no one else on the road – "

Dean cut her off. "What type of car was it? Did you see the license number or anything? What do you remember?"

Sylvie swallowed nervously under his onslaught. "It was black. Um, a black sedan I think, but it was dark and I can't be sure. I don't remember anything else; it all happened so fast."

The fire in Dean's belly flared as Sylvie identified the car. A memory flashed before him of a large, drunk man insulting him and then stumbling off to a black sedan…His stomach twisted with sudden guilt as he also remembered backing off and letting the man go. Which meant he could have stopped this…Oh that son of a bitch was going _down._

Dr Davis watched with concern as Dean's jaw set with barely contained wrath, and he carefully moved himself so as to be between Sylvie and the man should things go south. However, Dean's anger did not seem to be directed towards Sylvie and as a nurse arrived to take Sam to surgery, Dean visibly shook himself and directed his attention towards his brother again.

~ O ~ O ~ O ~

Dean watched as his little brother was shipped off to theatre. Right in this moment he felt helpless to do anything as all he could do was sit and wait and he had never been very good at that. His active mind was already planning out ways of finding the man who did this to his brother and doing to him what he should have done in the first place. The law might not do anything but Dean Winchester had never cared much for the law anyway; he was a do-it-yourself kind of man.

Dean was just warming up to his creative plans when his phone rang. Pulling it out of his jacket, he glanced at the screen to see who was calling and felt a sinking feeling.

There on the screen in bold black letters, was one little word: _Dad._

**To be continued…**

**A/N: **I would love to hear what you thought of this chapter!:-D


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Thanks once again for all your lovely reviews – your encouragement inspires me to write faster! I wrote the whole of chapter nine today, so here is chapter four;-) I hope you enjoy and I look forward to hearing what you think of it!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own those gorgeous boys – more's the pity:-(

**Butterfly Effect**

**Chapter Four**

As tinny rock music continued to fill the reception area, Dean felt the dread that bearers of bad news have felt for centuries. If the fact that he felt partly to blame for his brother's current status was not bad enough, he had also failed to notify his father the moment he had heard what happened to Sam, in addition to which he simply did not know how to break the news to him. What he did know was that aside from a very real concern for his youngest son, their father would also be royally ticked off at this unexpected turn of events. John had been planning their upcoming hunt for over a month and one drunken driver had put all those carefully laid plans to waste. A drunken driver whom Dean could have sorted _before_ he had hit the road and his brother. No, John would not be happy.

~ O ~ O ~ O ~

John tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for Dean to answer his phone. It had been over two hours since he had told Sam in no uncertain terms to leave and he was starting to get worried. Not that Sam was incapable of looking after himself but it was dark and late and the area that they were staying in was rather seedy and he was just worried. Sam was his youngest and he had always felt rather more protective of him. Maybe it was his youth and relative innocence or maybe it was the fact that Mary had died on the ceiling of Sam's nursery to save him. Either way, John didn't like to have Sam out of his sight for too long, particularly if he didn't know where he was, and especially if they hadn't parted on the best of terms. Guilt was a bitch.

"Hi Dad." His usually over confident eldest sounded strangely nervous.

"Dean. Have you heard from Sammy?" If anyone knew where Sam was it was his big brother. Those two had a bond like no other.

"Um. Not exactly."

"What do you mean 'not exactly'? It's a straightforward question Dean. Have you heard from him or haven't you?" Dean's hesitancy was causing John's anxiety to reach new levels; there was something his son wasn't saying and Dean keeping secrets was never a good thing.

"Sorry sir. I haven't heard from Sam, but I know where he is – "

"Quit stalling and spit it out."

"He's in the hospital in surgery at the moment. He was hit by a car, and Dad I don't know – it's pretty bad."

Dean's voice cracked on the last statement and he cleared his throat in evident embarrassment. John was stunned. How could this have happened? Just two hours ago Sam was fine and now he was in surgery? Just two hours ago, _before _John kicked him out and he got hit by a car. John felt his stomach clench with a sickening sensation which he easily identified as guilt seasoned with remorse. Feeling physically ill and shaky he sank down on to the nearest chair, swallowing convulsively as his mouth suddenly turned dry.

"Dad? Are you still there?" Dean's voice echoed down the line and John realized that he hadn't said anything for a few minutes. Clearing his throat and licking his lips, he thought about what to say.

"Where are you now?" _Damn_, even his voice was shaking.

"Lincoln Memorial Hospital. They said he's going to be in surgery a while so I'm just waiting."

"Right. I'll be there soon." He pressed the 'end' button with fingers that had suddenly gone clammy and wondered how he was going to face his sons. Either of them.

~ O ~ O ~ O ~

Dean looked at his phone in confusion. That certainly wasn't the reaction he had expected. His Dad hadn't even _mentioned _the hunt. In fact, he had sounded more shaken than angry. Whilst grateful for small mercies, he couldn't help a small frown as he slipped his phone back into his jacket pocket; maybe he didn't know his father as well as he thought.

~ O ~ O ~ O ~

Sylvie watched from the door of the emergency room as Dean put his phone away. There was a slight frown on his forehead; he looked confused and unhappy. The handsome young man still intimidated her somewhat with his furious protectiveness of his younger brother, but it was also that same protectiveness that drew her to him. He was certainly a person to be reckoned with, but there was also such tenderness in his eyes when he looked at Sam and touched his hand in the ER. It had reminded her for a moment what it had felt like to be an older sibling, and it was this that prompted her to suppress her nervousness and go over to him. He looked up as she approached, a wary expression on his face. She gave him a slight smile.

"Hey. I was just wondering if you would like some coffee or something? Sam's gonna be a while in surgery and I know I'm tired…"

A brief glint of gratitude shone in his eyes and he smiled tiredly back at her. "Coffee sounds great, thanks. But why are you hanging around when you could be home in bed? I thought you had the night off?"

She felt heat flood her face at his question. He noticed it immediately.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to pry –"

"No no, it's OK," she cut him off quickly, "it's just that I kind of feel responsible for Sam, y'know? I know that may sound weird but I was the one who found him and I just want to know how he is, make sure he's OK. Um."

Dean's eyes softened as he looked at her. "I guess I never thanked you for taking care of Sammy. So, thanks. A lot."

Sylvie felt her blush deepen. It was not every day that such an extremely attractive young man showed her such gratitude. Sitting down on a nearby chair, she linked her fingers together between her knees. Dean watched her with veiled curiosity.

"I guess it's also that Sam reminds me a bit of my own little brother. I mean, not in looks or anything really, but he has that same innocence and vulnerability, y'know? So I just don't think I could sleep anyway without knowing whether he was gonna be alright."

Dean was now looking at her with open interest. "How old is your little brother?"

"He was 12."

"Was?"

"He died of bacterial meningitis. I was 17 at the time and there was nothing they could do. My parents were away and I didn't recognize the signs. I thought he just had a headache from playing in the sun all day. They got it too late and he died. He was my responsibility and I failed."

Sylvie felt tears prick her eyes and quickly looked down at her linked hands so that Dean wouldn't see them. She had no idea why she was telling him all of this, except that she sensed that he would understand. It was a long time ago now, and yet she had never really gotten over it. People said that time healed all wounds, and sure it helped, but it was more like it caused a scab to form over the cut; the cut was still there but it didn't hurt quite as much. However, sometimes something would cause her to pick at it, like now, and the cut would open up all over again, as raw and painful as ever.

She started as she felt a warm hand close over hers. Looking up, she saw Dean kneeling in front of her, concern and compassion in his green eyes.

"You were only 17, Sylvie. You can't keep beating yourself up about this."

Sylvie searched his face, appreciating his kind words, but wondering whether he really believed them himself.

"And if it was Sam? Would you ever be able to forgive yourself?"

Dean's eyes flickered briefly with an unidentifiable emotion which was quickly covered up. He wouldn't answer that question and Sylvie knew it. Smiling ruefully, she continued.

"That's why I became a nurse. So I would be able to recognize the signs of illness in the future and prevent other people from dying. So I could save other people's little brothers because I couldn't save mine."

~ O ~ O ~ O ~

Dean watched the young woman with compassion and an empathetic ache in his heart. He couldn't offer her any empty, meaningless platitudes. He had tried, and she had shot his efforts down in flames. And she was right; if Sammy died because he had failed to stop that drunk driver from reaching his cursed black sedan, he would never forgive himself. He would blame himself for the rest of his life, which if he was honest probably wouldn't be very long. How could he expect her to do something that he couldn't? At least she hadn't simply curled up and died as he would be tempted to do. She had actively done something to ensure that she wouldn't make such a mistake again; to ensure that her brother's death actually meant something.

But Dean couldn't think about little brothers dying right now. Not when his own little brother was currently in surgery, and guilt was weighing heavy on his heart. So taking a deep breath, he stood up and put on his most charming grin (even if it didn't entirely meet his eyes). Startled, Sylvie looked up, unshed tears still shining in her brown eyes.

"I think we both need that coffee, don't you?"

Sylvie blushed again, realizing that she had forgotten all about the coffee but appreciating his attempt to change the subject and save her further embarrassment.

"Yes, I think that's a good idea. Thanks for reminding me. I'll go get it now."

She got up and made her way towards a coffee machine in the corner. Dean watched her until his attention was distracted by the sound of the glass doors sliding open and a deep voice calling his name. Turning his head, he saw a familiar tall figure standing in the entrance. His Dad had arrived.

**To be continued…**

**A/N: **I would love to hear what you think!:-)


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Thank-you for all your lovely reviews – I was thrilled when the count went over 100!:-D Here's the next chapter and I hope you enjoy it – can't wait to hear what you think!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them.

**Butterfly Effect**

**Chapter Five**

Sylvie turned to bring the two steaming cups of coffee over to where Dean was seated and saw that someone had joined him. The new man was taller than Dean and older, but had the same formidable aspect about him. Making her way over to where the two were talking, Sylvie wondered whether they were related. As she came closer, she could overhear their conversation.

"Have you heard any more news yet?" The older man sounded agitated.

"No, not yet. I think he's gonna be in there a while. He was pretty banged up, Dad. The bone in his leg was sticking out and he was still unconscious when I saw him." Dean's tough façade had disappeared around his father and his voice was filled with fear and worry for his brother as well as some other emotion which she still couldn't quite put her finger on.

"He's been banged up before, Dean. He's tough. He'll be out of here before you know it." The older man's voice by contrast was filled with certainty, but there was also a faint undertone of something else in his tone – fear? Remorse? Sylvie wasn't sure.

As if sensing her thoughts, he looked up at that moment and met her eyes. Their expression was so haunted that Sylvie stepped back a pace. This man had seen death before. She suspected that Dean had too, but the older man was different. Harder and yet more broken. As one who herself had suffered great loss and blamed herself for it, she could recognize a kindred spirit. He was wracked with guilt to his very bones. This family got more interesting by the hour.

~ O ~ O ~ O ~

John felt strangely uncomfortable under the young woman's gaze. She seemed to be a shy little thing and yet her eyes were remarkably piercing when they looked at one like that. He felt laid bare and he didn't like it at all. Dean noticed where he was looking and followed the direction of his gaze.

"Oh, sorry. Dad, this is Sylvie. Sylvie, this is my Dad. Sylvie's the one who found Sam and brought him here."

John raised his eyebrows in surprise and forced a smile on to his face. "I guess I owe you my thanks then."

Sylvie lowered her eyes shyly, to John's relief. "It's nothing. I mean, what else could I have done?"

John nodded in acquiescence. There was an awkward pause whilst they all stood around, not knowing what to say to each other.

"Um, I was just getting coffee. Would you like some too?" John nodded again, grateful to the girl for rescuing him from the necessity of small talk. Turning back to his son, he gestured towards the row of chairs.

"I guess we should sit, seeing as it looks like we're gonna be here for a while."

Dean nodded and the two of them sat down with equal heavy sighs. John looked down at his hands, resting on his knees, fingers tapping restlessly.

"And now we wait."

~ O ~ O ~ O ~

"Dean! Wake up!"

Dean jolted awake with a snort. Yawning, he looked around him in confusion, wondering for a second where he was. Then as he saw the various signage on the walls and doors, and his father standing before him, looking worn and concerned, it all came back to him. Hospital. Sam. Hit and run. Suddenly alert, he jumped up, grabbing the back of the chair to steady himself as he teetered.

"Where's Sammy? Is he OK?"

John bit back a smile at his son's swift transition from half asleep to wide awake. He had trained him well.

"Sylvie went and checked a while ago and she's just told me that he's out of surgery and should be coming round soon if we want to see him."

"Hell yeah, I wanna see him! Where is he? Can we go now?"

This time John did smile. "He's in ICU. Sylvie's going to take us there now. We're just waiting for her."

Several minutes later, Sylvie appeared, a tired but relieved smile on her face. "I see you're awake, Dean. Sam's out of surgery and in the ICU. Follow me if you want to see him."

Turning, she led the way through another doorway, down a brightly lit hallway and into a small room, which smelled strongly of antiseptic. Sam was lying on the only bed in the room, his right leg in a cast and elevated, his right arm in a sling and his left arm hooked up to an IV which Dr Davis was busy adjusting. In the background, a steady beeping announced to all present that Sam was alive. Dean felt his own heart settle down to a more even rhythm in response.

Dr Davis looked up as they entered the room, a similar tired smile on his face to that which Sylvie had greeted them with. Finishing up with Sam, he removed the latex gloves from his hands, throwing them into a nearby wastebasket, and stepped over to where they were standing. Holding out his now gloveless right hand to John, he introduced himself.

"Hi, I'm Dr Davis and I'm taking care of Sam. You must be - ?"

"Sam's father, John Winchester." John took the man's hand and shook it briefly.

"Nice to meet you, John. As you can see, Sam's out of surgery now and is starting to come round. It may take a little while for the anaesthetic to wear off completely though. Unfortunately, Sam was not stable enough to undergo a CT scan and so we had to make do with X-rays. Most of the trauma seems to be on his right side, so it seems that that was the primary site of impact."

He paused to make sure that they were all following. Dean was staring at his broken little brother, so John nodded for him to continue.

"His right leg was badly broken at the shin and there is extensive bruising on both legs. We have reset his leg and it will need to be elevated for a while to prevent swelling. Several of his ribs were also broken."

"Are his lungs OK?" Dean knew that multiple broken ribs frequently led to lung damage as well.

"Fortunately his lungs were not perforated. However, they will probably be very bruised and we will continue to monitor his breathing as sometimes the pain can make it very difficult to breathe properly."

When Dr Davis saw that Dean wasn't going to comment further and was back to looking at his brother, he continued.

"His right shoulder was dislocated so we have reduced it and strapped it. Shoulder dislocations are nasty things though, and he will need to undergo a course of physical therapy once he is more recovered."

John frowned. Physical therapy meant money they did not have, as well as an extra long recovery time. If Dr Davis noticed his dismay however he did not comment, simply continuing with his report.

"His nose was also broken and we have reset it. There should be no permanent disfigurement though. In addition, he also had a few cuts on his legs and torso, which though small were fairly deep, so we stitched them up and put him on a course of antibiotics to prevent infection from setting in. Do you have any questions?"

Dean nodded. "When will he be awake?"

Dr Davis smiled at the young man's single-minded determination to see his brother. "Well, like I said, he should be coming round any time now. I'll leave you two with him now. If you have any questions, the receptionist knows where to find me." Turning to Sylvie, he gestured towards the door. "Why don't we leave these men with Sam for now, hmm? I'm sure they want some privacy."

Sylvie nodded, feeling less tense now that she had seen for herself that Sam was alright. Well, relatively speaking, at any rate. Anyway, there was something she wanted to speak with Dr Davis about before her next shift started.

~ O ~ O ~ O ~

Dean drew up a chair beside Sam's bed, reaching out to briefly touch Sam on his uninjured hand. "Hey Sammy, wakey wakey. This is your wake-up call," he crooned; Sam always hated it when he did that.

He looked up as John sat down on the chair on the opposite side of the bed, then looked back down again as he heard Sam groan.

"That's it, my boy. Time to wake up now, sleep time is over."

Hazel eyes opened to slits, and Sam moaned. "G'way."

"Sorry Sammy, nothing doing. Girls all over the continental US would kill to wake up to this face, so count yourself lucky, little brother."

Sam opened his eyes fully this time and directed a sleepy glare in Dean's direction, which was about as menacing as a newborn kitten's. "'M tryin' to sleep. Got school tomorrow."

Dean frowned. Didn't Sam know where he was? "Sammy, you're in the hospital. You're not going to school tomorrow."

It was Sam's turn to frown. "H'spital? Wh't happened?"

"Don't you remember? You were hit by a car and you got pretty banged up. Does none of this ring a bell?"

Confusion was slowly replaced with comprehension and then fear. Sam started to struggle frantically, trying to sit up and remove the IV from his arm. Puzzled and feeling very worried, Dean reached out hastily to stop him before he did himself any more damage.

"Hey, easy tiger, what's wrong?"

Sam muttered something which Dean couldn't quite make out.

"Sorry Sammy, I didn't catch that. You're gonna have to speak up."

This time Dean heard what his little brother said and it chilled him.

"Dad's gonna be so angry with me. I shouldn't've gone so far, I should've been watching where I was going. All my fault."

"Sam, what are you talking about? How is this possibly your fault? The only person to blame here is the son of a bitch who drove into you." _And me. _But he didn't say that.

Sam shook his head frantically, then groaned as it made him feel dizzy. "Got into a fight with Dad. He got angry and told me to leave. Didn't want to hurt me. I didn't pay attention to where I was going. All my fault."

Dean looked up in horror at his father, who was sitting silent on the other side of the room, his face pale and guilt-stricken.

"Dad? Is this true?"

**To be continued…**

**A/N: **I would love to hear from you!:-D


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **Well, here it is! One of the chapters you have all been waiting for…I have to say that I agonized over this chapter, but I couldn't see any other way this could have gone within the realms of this story. I do hope that you are not disappointed – I have done my utmost to keep them in character, so I hope I have succeeded. I look forward to hearing your thoughts on this chapter:-D

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them.

**Butterfly Effect**

**Chapter Six**

Dean's eyes narrowed when John didn't answer immediately. Standing up, he pinned the older man with his gaze and demanded again, "_Is it true?_"

John shifted uncomfortably even as his face hardened in a long-conditioned response to the belligerence in his son's tone. Standing up himself so that he would have the advantage of height as well as age, he looked across the bed at his eldest.

"Remember boy, I am your _father._"

Dean stiffened. "So it _is _true then. You wouldn't be so defensive if it wasn't. You kicked Sam out into the night and left him to the mercy of any drunk driver who might come along!"

Dean knew even as he said it that it was unfair. John couldn't have known that Sam would get hit by a drunk driver in that lonely part of town; hardly any cars came that way for goodness' sake! And Sam had even said that John only told him to leave because he didn't want to hurt him. But Dean was angry and still guilty for what he perceived as his own part in this whole messed-up affair, and he desperately wanted someone to blame. The drunk driver was the obvious choice, but as he wasn't there to take his frustrations out on, his father was the next best thing. Although, make no mistake, that driver was going to get what was coming to him. All in good time.

~ O ~ O ~ O ~

For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, John faced off with one of his sons. Standing there, stiff-shouldered, blood pumping, he had an awful sense of déjà vu. Sam had looked just like Dean did; eyes narrowed and cheeks flushed with anger. The only difference was that where Sam tended to thrust his chin out when he was angry, Dean tucked his in slightly, jaw clenching. With the feeling of déjà vu, came a renewed sense of guilt as he remembered how that last stand-off had ended, and shame as he realized that he was this close to making the same mistake with his other son.

This realization was enough to shock John into calming down somewhat and taking a deep breath he faced his son squarely.

"Yes, it's true." Funny how three little words could feel so heavy on the lips. "Sam and I had a fight about him going on the hunt and I lost it. I told him to get out because I didn't want to do something I would regret."

"What, more than this, you mean?" Dean's harsh words cut him deep and he flinched as from a physical blow. He knew he deserved it though.

"I wasn't thinking straight, OK? I was mad and he was mad and you know how it gets sometimes Dean; you've seen for yourself enough times, haven't you?"

Dean nodded, not saying anything.

"I made a mistake OK? And I deeply regret it, but what's done is done."

Dean nodded, but then looked confused. "Why were you arguing about him going on the hunt anyway? I thought Caleb was coming?"

John shook his head wearily. "Caleb's been injured and couldn't make it. He had just phoned and I was already frustrated by this turn of events and then Sam had to go and get all stiff-necked about doing schoolwork. Said he needs to do well so he can leave us, or some such nonsense. Well, you can imagine, I just saw red."

Dean went pale when he heard his father report what Sam had said. Surely it couldn't be true, could it? He glanced away from the older man and looked down at his little brother, who was gazing up at him mutely, a pleading look in his eyes.

"Sammy? Is this true? You want to leave us?" He hated how pathetic his voice sounded.

Sam looked away, long lashes veiling his hazel eyes from Dean's view. He swallowed convulsively and gave a small nod. Dean felt as though someone had sucker punched him in the gut and sat back down rather suddenly.

"Why, Sammy? I mean I know you don't like hunting, but why do you want to leave us?" _Why do you want to leave _me_? _

A tear trickled beneath Sam's eyelashes and down his battered cheek. When he spoke, his voice was soft and pleading.

"I don't want to leave you or Dad, Dean. I just – this life isn't for me. I'm not happy. I don't enjoy hunting like you and Dad do; I enjoy learning and researching. I want to study, Dean. I want to go to university and have a family of my own. Is that so bad?"

Dean looked away, desperately wanting to shut out his brother's quiet voice. What Sam said was reasonable, it made sense, and yet Dean couldn't help feeling like Sam _was _leaving him, was choosing another life over him. He tried to imagine life without his little brother and couldn't. His subconscious instinctively shied away from such a terrible and lonely mental image.

Dean heard Sam continue to speak, but his words were directed towards their father now. "I'm sorry, Dad. I shouldn't have gotten so angry and I shouldn't have said that about Mom."

Dean looked up to see John leaning over Sam, hands hovering but not touching. "No, _I'm _sorry, Sammy. I took my frustrations out on you and that was wrong."

A brief smile flickered across Sam's face, only to be replaced with concern. "Dad, how am I going to hand in my essay?"

John frowned. "What essay?"

"The one I was working on – it's worth a third of my grade! I have to get that essay in!" Sam was becoming frantic and was struggling to get up once again.

"Shh, Sammy, settle down." That was Dean. "I'm sure they'll understand and give you an extension – "

"No, you don't understand! Term's almost over and tomorrow was the last day to hand it in – Mr. Jones had already given us an extension and he said we can't hand them in later than tomorrow or they won't get marked! I'll fail!" Sam was rapidly becoming tearful, probably due to overexertion and pain.

Dean, hating to see his normally tough little brother in tears, thought quickly. "OK Sammy, tell you what. I'll get your essay and drop it off first thing in the morning. That way I can also explain to your teachers what's happened and get any work from them for you. OK?"

Sam smiled gratefully and nodded. "Thanks Dean."

"No problem kiddo. Never thought the day would come when I would actually be asking for schoolwork, but hey. Stranger things have happened, huh?"

Sam laughed, and then winced when it hurt his ribs. Dean looked up to see his father looking at him with a strangely soft expression in his eyes. Feeling embarrassed, he shrugged as if to say 'well, what can you do?' and John smirked.

"Well Dean, I guess you had better get some rest. What with having to get up early to go to school and all."

Dean muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Bite me" and settled into the chair next to Sam's bed. John looked down fondly on his two sons, relieved that tensions had been defused for now, and then settled down himself to keep vigil over his little family.

**To be continued…**

**A/N: **I would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter;-)


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **I just wanted to say thank-you so much for your positive feedback and encouragement on the last chapter – I was very nervous posting it as I knew that some of you might expect a more violent exchange, but I still hold by my conviction that what happened was the most realistic and in-character, especially considering that the Dean of this story is pre-season Dean and is, therefore, much less likely to punch out his father's lights in my opinion! I was thrilled and relieved to see that many of you agreed with me:-)

This chapter is dedicated to my best friend, Wallflowergirl, as she heads to Malawi this week. I'm going to miss you, my friend!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them.

**Butterfly Effect**

**Chapter Seven**

Tom Jones sighed heavily as he looked at the teetering pile of unmarked assignments on his desk. He hated end of term; the crazy rush to get last minute marks in and work out the course grade, only to be followed by finals and exam marking. A deathly hush had settled over the school as students and teachers alike worked frantically to get everything done in time. And as if the formidable mound already sitting on his desk was not enough, his grade 12 AP English class were handing in a batch of essays today which were worth a third of their grade. Sitting down with another sigh in his rather uncomfortable desk chair, he pulled the first pile towards him; might as well get some marking in before class started.

~ O ~ O ~ O ~

Dean felt unaccountably nervous as he approached the classroom door. Never having enjoyed school that much, he felt a bit like a fish out of water being back here now. The door was already open and a man whom Dean assumed was Mr. Jones was seated behind the desk, rifling through a mountainous pile of papers in front of him.

"Um, excuse me –" The man started, clearly not having heard him enter. "Sorry, I didn't mean to surprise you…"

Dean felt horribly awkward. He had never really known how to interact with male teachers. Female teachers were easy (excuse the pun); young or old, all he had to do was flirt with them and they responded most satisfactorily – with blushes and stammers and being so flustered that they let him get away with whatever he wanted. Male teachers on the other hand were somewhat of an anomaly. He had never been quite sure whether to give them the same respect he showed his father or to buck the system all together. Generally he had attempted a compromise of sorts which inevitably resulted in disaster. This was Sam's teacher however, and he didn't want to jeopardize his little brother in any way.

The man, recovering from his shock, stood up and smiled warmly. "What may I do to help you?"

If anything, the man's congeniality threw Dean off even more. "Actually I'm here about my brother. That is, I'm not a student. That is – oh damn it all!"

The man's smile turned into a grin. "Why don't you start at the beginning – who is your brother? I assume he is a student of mine?"

Dean nodded, feeling irritated with himself as he felt his ears grow warm. "Yes. My brother's Sam Winchester. I'm his older brother, Dean."

"Ah, yes, I believe I've heard of you…"

Dean felt smug and rather pleased. "You have? No doubt you've heard all about what an awesome big brother I am." Now that introductions were past, he was starting to relax into his usual cocky self again.

"Actually, I believe it was more along the lines that you were responsible for Sam's sudden and rather curious hair loss a few months ago."

Startled, Dean met the other man's eyes and saw that they were twinkling. He began to see why this man was Sam's favourite teacher.

"Yes, well, what Sam probably _didn't _mention was that a few days before that he filled my coffee with laxatives, so I'm sorry to say it, but the little snot had it coming."

Mr. Jones snorted, actually _snorted. _"Don't worry, Dean. I have a little brother too and when I was your age, I did far worse things to him than put some Nair in his shampoo, _believe _me. But entertaining as this conversation is, I'm sure it's not why you came here, is it?"

Dean gave a brief shake of his head, all levity fading. "No. I came here to give you Sam's essay, because Sam couldn't make it."

Mr. Jones frowned. "Is Sam OK?"

"No, he's not OK. He had an accident and he's in ICU. The doc says he should make it, but he's pretty messed up." The summarized version glossed over a few rather important pieces of information, but Dean didn't think Mr. Jones needed to know all the intimate details of their family.

"I'm very sorry to hear that." And he certainly sounded it. "Is there anything I can do?"

Dean examined the man in front of him and decided that maybe he needed to revise his opinion of teachers, or this teacher at any rate. "If you could just give me any work that he needs to do, that'll be enough, thanks."

"Of course. It's nearly end of term and finals are coming up, so this was the last assignment; we were just going to do revision after this. So maybe if you tell him just to go over everything we've done so far and I'll get you some past papers for him to look at, so he knows what to expect."

"Thank-you. That would be great." Mr. Jones made his way over to his desk and retrieved some papers from a drawer.

"Here you go: past papers from the last three years. If there's anything else I can do, will you let me know? Sam is one of my best pupils and I would hate for this horrible setback to affect his grade."

"Thank-you, but this should be good for now. Maybe you could point me in the direction of Sam's other teachers though?"

"Of course."

An hour later, Dean was on his way back to the hospital, armed with past papers from all the teachers and many verbal messages of condolence. He hadn't realized how popular Sam was at school; from the teachers' and several of the students' words and reactions, it would seem that Sam was very much loved here, and proud as he was of his little brother, Dean didn't really know how to take that.

~ O ~ O ~ O ~

Sylvie pushed open the door to Sam's room and entered quietly. Pausing a few moments, she took in the scene before her. Dean was nowhere to be seen, which surprised her, given his extreme protectiveness of his younger brother, but John Winchester was sitting in one of the chairs beside Sam's bed, head back and eyes closed, one hand wrapped firmly around his son's. Not wanting to wake him, she tiptoed over to the other side of the bed with the aim of checking on Sam to make sure he was doing OK and then leaving again. Dr Davis had been initially reluctant to let her take on Sam's case, thinking that her obvious emotional involvement could interfere with her judgement, but once she had managed to persuade him that that same emotional involvement would in fact mean that she only had Sam's very best interests at heart, he had consented, albeit with reservations.

Unfortunately, Sam stirred as she approached his bedside, groaning and immediately awaking John.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you Sam. I just want to check your vitals."

Bleary hazel eyes peered at her from between long dark lashes. "Who're you?" Sam's voice was rusty with sleep and he coughed to clear it, grimacing in pain when his ribs hurt him.

"I'm Sylvie, the one who found you, and I'm going to be your nurse, Sam. How're you feeling this morning?"

Sam's forehead creased in pain. "H'rts."

Sylvie saw John tighten his grip on Sam's uninjured hand, an echo of his son's pain in his own face, and she frowned in sympathy. "Hmm. I could see about giving you another dose of morphine; your IV appears to have almost run out. Let me go and okay it with Dr Davis quickly."

John raised his eyes and looked at her with gratitude, as she turned and left the room, footsteps disappearing down the corridor.

~ O ~ O ~ O ~

Sam's mind felt sluggish, like someone had removed his brain in the night and replaced it with custard. He felt exhausted, despite sleeping for at least eight hours the night before, and could hardly keep his eyes open. Muzzily looking around the room, he wondered absently where Dean was.

"Sam, how're you doin' son?" His father's voice penetrated his waning consciousness.

"Where's D'n?" Even his voice sounded garbled, like he had a mouth full of marbles.

"He's gone to school to hand in your essay for you – don't you remember?" John sounded concerned.

No, Sam didn't remember. What essay?

"'M tired."

"I know, son. Your body's going to need rest to heal properly. It's OK if you go to sleep again. I'm here."

Sam's last thought as he drifted off was how very nice it was of his father to say such a thing.

~ O ~ O ~ O ~

Sylvie was surprised to find Sam asleep again already when she came back with the morphine for his IV; she had only been gone ten minutes max. Putting the morphine down on a nearby table, she made her way to his bedside to check his vitals quickly.

"I said it was OK if he went back to sleep again; he was very tired and he needs to rest if he's going to get better." John's statement sounded almost like a question as he watched what Sylvie was doing.

Sylvie took a couple more seconds to make sure of what she was seeing before she looked up at John, worry written all over her face.

"This isn't sleep. He's unconscious."

**To be continued…**

**A/N: **I am dying to hear what you think of this chapter! I'm afraid updates might not be as regular now that I am back at university, but I will do my best;-)


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **Thank-you for your reviews on the last chapter - I enjoyed reading your guesses as to what was wrong with Sam!;-) Suffice it to say that this is something I have been wanting to write into a Supernatural story for a while...and I am DYING to hear your thoughts!

Whilst I did do fairly extensive research for this chapter, I am merely a humble speech therapy student, and therefore it is very possible that some medical info may be slightly inaccurate - I apologise in advance if that is the case and hope that you can overlook any inaccuracies and enjoy the chapter!

**Disclaimer: **Nope. Still not mine:-(

**Butterfly Effect**

**Chapter Eight**

John paced up and down Sam's room, waiting for news. Every now and then, his eyes would fall on the empty, rumpled bed, and his heart rate would pick up once more. After Sylvie's disturbing pronouncement, she had rushed off to get Dr Davis, who had in turn paged several other nurses and, after hurriedly quizzing John about whether Sam had any metals in his body (he didn't) they had shipped Sam off for an MRI scan. From what they had let slip when questioning him, it seemed that they suspected some sort of head injury, but until they returned from the scans, he could do nothing but wear the floorboards down with pacing and wait.

~ O ~ O ~ O ~

Dean pulled the Impala into the hospital parking lot and leaped out, eager to see his brother again and looking forward to teasing him for being the geek boy he was. Hurrying into reception, he explained to the woman behind the desk that he was here for Sam Winchester and she nodded to the security guard to let him through to ICU. When he finally got to Sam's room however, it was not to be greeted by a tired, emo little brother. Instead, he was confronted with an empty bed and an anxious father who was marching up and down the room, worry lines embedded into his face.

"Dad? _Where's Sam_?" Dean was frantic.

"Getting an MRI. He went unconscious." John sounded distracted and only briefly looked in his eldest son's direction, before resuming his pacing.

"_What? How did that happen? Why? Is he going to be OK?_"

John stopped in his tracks and looked at Dean with the impatience that is born of worry.

"I _don't know. _One minute he was awake and complaining of tiredness and the next he was unconscious. I thought it was just sleep but Sylvie said it wasn't. They've taken him for scans now. They seem to think he has a head injury."

"A head injury?" Dean was bewildered. "But he didn't have any serious cuts on his head and he wasn't concussed. Why would it only show itself now?"

"_I don't know, OK? _We'll know more when Dr Davis gets back. For now all we can do is wait."

Dean did _not _like that idea. But really, what could he do? He had already almost been dragged out of the hospital by security and he didn't want to risk that happening again. That said, he couldn't sit still and wait patiently either, so instead he decided to take a leaf out of his father's book, and began walking up and down the small room, hoping that it would distract him enough to make the time go by more quickly.

~ O ~ O ~ O ~

Dr Davis looked at the image on the screen as the radiologist explained its implications to him and felt his heart sink with dread. If only they had thought to do an MRI sooner, they would have seen this. But CT scans were the first line of offence for blunt trauma cases, and no head injury had been suspected when Sam had come in. Their main concern had been possible internal injuries which the CT would have shown. As Sam hadn't been stable enough for a CT at the time, they had decided to wait and monitor his vitals until he _was_ stable enough, little suspecting that there was another silent enemy busy doing its job under their very noses.

Feeling the sickening sense of dread grow as he thought of explaining that to Sam's overprotective father and brother, he sighed heavily. However, he _would _explain it to them, because he was an honest man who believed in facing up to his mistakes. That didn't mean he had to like it though. And to think the day hadn't even really started yet…

~ O ~ O ~ O ~

Dean looked up as he heard footsteps approaching, which were soon followed by the tall figure of Dr Davis, looking tired and world-weary. John turned at the sound as well, anxiety written all over his face.

"Where's Sam? Is he OK? What's wrong with him?"

The doctor put up his hand to halt their flood of questions and sighed.

"Sam's in neurosurgery – "

"_Neurosurgery?_"

" – getting an epidural hematoma evacuated – "

"_An epi what?"_

" – we got it in time, so he should be alright – "

"_Should _be?"

" – I'm very sorry."

Father and son exchanged disbelieving glances, and then turned on the doctor, a united Winchester front.

"Why wasn't this picked up before?" That was John.

"What do you mean he _should _be alright? Can't you be certain?" Dean, voice simultaneously fearful and accusing.

Dr Davis shifted uncomfortably, unconsciously creating some physical distance between himself and Sam's irate family.

"Sam's MRI showed that he has an epidural hematoma. This is essentially a buildup of blood between the dura mater, which is the tough outer membrane of the central nervous system, and the skull. It is most commonly caused by trauma to the middle meningeal artery, which runs under a particularly fragile piece of bone, and therefore is susceptible to injury. Are you following so far?"

John and Dean nodded, not relaxing their imposing postures, and the doctor swallowed nervously before continuing with his explanation.

"Because Sam did not have a concussion and there was no evidence of a fractured skull, we did not suspect a head injury, and were more concerned about internal organ damage, which is why we did not do an MRI scan immediately. We attributed his unconsciousness to his low blood pressure and low O2 sats. That was our mistake. A CT Scan was the ideal for ascertaining blunt trauma damage, and when we could not do that, we did not even think of doing an MRI."

"So you're admitting that this is your fault?" Dean's voice was aggressive and his chin was thrust forward, shoulders set in an attack stance.

Dr Davis distanced himself a bit further from the angry young man. "I'm saying that we made a mistake, one which is unfortunately common enough. Epidural hematomas are very easy to miss, because the person may seem fine for several hours, before descending rapidly into unconsciousness. Fortunately, Sam was already in the hospital and so we were able to take rapid intervention. Also, the fact that he did have a lucid interval makes his prognosis even better."

"So he's going to be OK, then?" Father and son spoke simultaneously and looked at each other in surprise.

"He should be." The doctor spoke with caution, well aware that anything he said to these two could and would come back to bite him if he was wrong, perhaps more literally than he would like. "The injury to Sam's middle meningeal artery was fortunately very slight and so the bleeding has been relatively slow. From what we can tell, no permanent damage has been done. Unfortunately, because we did not realize that Sam had a head injury, we gave him morphine, which has been known to increase intracranial pressure. Still, it would seem like we got it in time."

Dean snorted derisively. "So, you admit to making another mistake. Real competent bunch you lot are."

Dr Davis put up his hands placatingly. "Like I said before, they were mistakes that anyone could have made. However, I take full responsibility for them and I am truly sorry that this happened."

Dean said nothing, but John carefully sized up the man before speaking. "Well, it would seem like you're sincere. However, if Sam doesn't make it through this for whatever reason, don't expect absolution from us. In fact, you can be pretty sure you'll see us again." His voice was quiet, but held an undeniable threat.

The doctor swallowed convulsively.

"You said Sam's in neurosurgery – what are they doing to him?" This was Dean again.

The doctor turned his gaze back to the younger man, feeling the sweat trickle down his back beneath his scrubs. "They're performing a craniotomy to relieve the pressure on Sam's brain and aspirate the excess blood. He should be back here in less than an hour. Um, I really should go now – are there any more questions before I leave?"

The men before him shook their heads and as Dr Davis hurried out of the room, John Winchester's voice followed him down the corridor, the menace in his tone unmistakeable: "Remember what I said, doctor, and hope to God that Sam is OK."

Dr Davis did hope. With every fibre of his being, he _hoped._

**To be continued…**

**A/N: **Can't wait to hear your thoughts!:-D Almost as much as I can't wait to see Friday's ep!


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **I hope you all enjoy this chapter:-D Chapter ten is already written, but I am currently stalled on chapter eleven - I know what I want to write but just can't seem to find the energy and inspiration to get down and actually write it at the moment:-( Varsity is a killer - it sucks all my creative juices like a thirsty vampire. So updates will be a bit thin on the ground from now on, but I will do my best;-) Your lovely feedback definitely inspires me to keep writing, so keep it coming!:-D

**Disclaimer: **Don't own them.

**Butterfly Effect**

**Chapter Nine**

Dean shuffled restlessly in the chair beside Sam's empty bed. John had gone out to get them some coffee and something to eat from the hospital cafeteria and left him to guard the fort, as it were. Looking up at the walls, he absently wondered why hospitals always picked such ugly paintings to decorate their rooms. Maybe because they were cheap. Or maybe it was so that people like him would have something to occupy their time as they wondered why hospitals picked such ugly paintings.

All thoughts of dubious tastes in art were banished however, as the door was pushed further inward and a gurney was ushered into the room; a gurney bearing his little brother. Dean immediately got up from his chair and hurried over to Sam's side, watching nervously from the sidelines as the nurses lined up the gurney with the bed and carefully lifted Sam into it.

Sam's eyes were open, the stitches in his head obscured with a tightly wrapped bandage. Even so, Dean could see that they had had to shave some of Sam's long hair. Sammy was going to _love _that.

Once the nurses had finished rehooking Sam up to various IVs and monitors, one of them turned to Dean. "He's probably going to be a little tired for a while; because he was already unconscious and because he was under anaesthetic so recently, the surgeon used a local for the craniotomy, but any operation, especially one of that nature, has the tendency to take it out of the patient. He regained consciousness a short while after the excess blood was aspirated and was appropriately responsive to stimuli, so he should be fine after he's had a rest."

Dean nodded, feeling warm relief flood his being. Sam still had a long road to full recovery and he knew that, but it would seem that the worst was over.

The nurse smiled at him, noting his relief. "I'm sure it's been tough, but it seems we got it in time, so you can breathe a bit easier now. Sylvie will come and check on him in a couple of hours to make sure that he's doing alright and if he is, then we will see about moving him to the ICU Step Down Unit, where we will continue to monitor his progress closely, but he will have a bit more breathing room and be able to eat real food."

Dean nodded again, smirking slightly at her last comment; since when was hospital food considered 'real food'?

Once the nurses had left, Dean settled down once more in the chair beside his brother's bed, which was now thankfully occupied.

"So Sammy, how're you feeling? You gave us a bit of a scare there, and Dr Davis too I think – you should have seen his face when Dad threatened him! I thought he would pee himself!"

Sam smiled; a small, tired smile, dimples hardly showing. Then reaching up with his left hand, he gingerly touched the bandage. "Does it look bad?"

Dean snorted. "Trust you to worry about your hair! Dad will be thrilled; he's been trying to get you to cut it for ages!"

Sam frowned at the mention of their father, and Dean felt guilty as he realized that probably wasn't the best move at this time. Thinking quickly, he tried to cover up his blunder.

"You should shave it all off; chicks dig a crew cut – I should know!" He grinned smugly and hoped it worked to distract his little brother. Sure enough, when he looked down at Sam again, the bitchface was in place, looking back at him from the white pillows.

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

This time when Sam smiled, his cheeks were dented with double dimples and Dean knew that his little brother was on the mend.

~ O ~ O ~ O ~

John made his way back towards the ICU, laden with steaming hot coffee and pieces of apple pie warmed up in a microwave. When he was almost there, his phone started to ring, and finding a place to put his burdens down, he drew it out of his pocket and answered.

"John Winchester."

"_John, it's Caleb."_

"Caleb. I didn't expect to hear from you again so soon. How're you holding up?"

"_Still pretty rough. Doc wasn't lying when he said I would be bedridden for a week; it's hard enough to make it to the bathroom, let alone anything else."_

"Why're you phoning, Caleb?" John was short and to the point, wanting to get back to his boys.

"_I've found someone who can help you with the werewolf hunt. A guy named Joshua. He's a friend of mine and a very good hunter. I thought it might mean you could let Sam off this time. I know he has finals coming up."_

John frowned. He didn't like it when people presumed to tell him how to behave towards his boys. However, Sam _was _out of commission now and so another hand on the hunt would be useful.

"When can he get here?"

"_He said he would meet you there, at the Pine Tree Motel."_

"Right. Thanks for letting me know, Caleb."

"_No problem." _And he hung up.

John had heard of Joshua before and he _was _a good hunter. He would be very useful on this hunt, and once Sam was out of the woods he would be able to go without feeling too bad for leaving him. After all, Sam was a young man now; he didn't need his father to mop his brow and mollycoddle him till he was 100% again. Besides, every time he saw his youngest son's bruised and battered form, he was uncomfortably reminded of his own guilt in the matter. No, it would be good to get away on a hunt and blow off some steam for a bit. Now all he needed to do was speak to Dean.

~ O ~ O ~ O ~

Sam opened his eyes as he heard someone come into the room. He had only been dozing, and the noise roused him. His father was standing near the doorway, speaking to Dean in hushed tones, and when he saw that he was awake, he smiled and came over.

"How're you feeling, son?"

Sam grimaced. "Still a bit groggy and sore, but I think a bit better."

"Good. Dean tells me that they're going to move you to the Step Down Unit later. That's good news; it means you're on the mend."

Sam nodded. "They said they would give me something to eat later too. I don't feel very hungry though."

"No, you won't for a while, but you must still try and eat something OK? You need it to build your strength up again."

"I'll do my best, sir."

"That's my boy." John ruffled the hair on the top of his head affectionately, and then turned back to Dean.

"I'm leaving town this afternoon. Caleb has a friend, Joshua, who's agreed to meet me in the next town and help on the hunt."

Dean looked stunned. "You're _leaving_? But Sam isn't better yet! He needs you, Dad!"

John frowned. He thought that Dean at least would understand. "Dean. Sam is out of danger; his recovery is just a matter of time now. These werewolves have killed over twenty people in the past two months; the townfolk are worried that there's a serial killer on the loose. I _have _to go."

Dean's expression went from shocked to angry. "It's _your _fault that Sam is here in the first place, and now you're just up and going? Let someone else do the hunt for once!"

It was John's turn to become angry. "Remember who you are speaking to, boy. I know my job – _both _of them. Sam will be fine. You will be here to keep an eye on him and you can call me if anything happens, which I doubt. There _is _no one else to do this hunt and the week of the full moon starts tomorrow, so there is no time to arrange anything. As it is, I would prefer to have three men on the job. However, I am going, and I don't want to hear another word on the subject."

Dean's expression darkened still further, but he didn't say anything more. Instead he turned his back on his father and made his way to Sam's side. His little brother was looking distressed, hating to see his family members fighting over him. Gently brushing his brother's bangs aside, Dean murmured, "It'll be OK, Sammy. I'll be here and as long as I'm around, nothing bad is going to happen to you."

Sam nodded and John, feeling his heart clench within him as he looked at his two sons, silently left the room.

**To be continued…**

**A/N: **Your feedback is my bread and butter:-D


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **Woot! Thanks for all your reviews on the last chapter!:-D They totally made my week:-) This chapter is a little bit of light fun before some more heavy stuff comes *smiles evilly*. I would love to hear your thoughts on it;-)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them.

**Butterfly Effect**

**Chapter Ten**

The Step Down Unit was similar in many ways to the ICU; the beds were filled with the seriously ill or injured, nurses and doctors were in and out all the time, checking on the patients, and each patient was surrounded with various monitors and IVs. The main difference was that these patients weren't in danger of dying anytime soon and were in general aware of their surroundings. As Sylvie settled Sam into his new bed, she informed him and Dean that he would probably only have to stay here for a day or so, and then he would be moved into one of the general wards. They just wanted him here for now so that they could continue to monitor him for any further possible complications.

"They should be bringing you some lunch any minute now," she continued. "From what Dr Davis told me, you're to be on a soft food diet for the next couple of days as you're still bedridden, so you don't want to eat anything too heavy."

Sam grimaced and Dean smirked at that. "Well, it's always been Sammy's dream to be a _regular _boy, so I'm sure he'll be just fine."

Sylvie looked puzzled at his comment, but Sam got it alright and glared in his direction.

"Well, um, I think that's all for now…" Sylvie started to head for the door, feeling like she was being left out of some secret conversation. As she was rounding the corner, however, she heard Dean's voice call after her.

"Thanks Sylvie."

And she smiled.

~ O ~ O ~ O ~

"This is disgusting." Sam clumsily lifted some of the brown slop with his left hand and sniffed it. "Ugh, it smells like dishwater."

Dean laughed at his little brother's expression. "Dude, it's hospital food; it's not meant to be cordon bleu!"

The younger Winchester glared in his direction. "Well, why don't you try some then, if you're so eager to promote it?"

Never one to turn down a challenge, Dean reached for the bowl. "Don't mind if I do."

Sam watched in disgusted disbelief as Dean took a heaping mouthful and rubbed his stomach exaggeratedly. "Mmm_hmm. _It's delicious, Sammy –really, you should try some."

"No thanks, you can finish it. I'll eat the jello."

Dean looked down at the nearly full bowl of soup and felt his stomach rebel. Sam hadn't been lying – it _was _disgusting. However, not wanting to admit defeat, he picked up the spoon again and manfully worked his way through the mercifully unidentifiable liquid, stopping to grimace only when he thought Sam wasn't looking.

Sam pretended to occupy himself with the orange jello, as he surreptitiously watched his brother battle with the soup. Seeing Dean grimace for the third time, he silently smirked and spooned some more jello into his mouth. Never say there weren't advantages to being injured…

~ O ~ O ~ O ~

"Sam? Sam, are you awake?" Sam opened his eyes to see Sylvie leaning over him.

"Mmm?"

"You have some visitors. I just wanted to check whether you were awake before I let them in to see you."

Sam felt his forehead crinkle in confusion. Who could possibly be coming to see him? Turning his head, he looked over at Dean, who shrugged, equally baffled.

Looking back at Sylvie, he gave a small smile. "Show them in then."

"I'll be right back." And she disappeared out into the corridor.

A couple of minutes later, Sam heard returning footsteps accompanied by several voices, speaking in hushed tones. The voices and footsteps gradually increased in volume and proximity until their owners came into view through the doorway. At that moment, he was inundated with cries of concern.

"Sam! Sam, are you alright? -"

"Oh, you look _awful_! Mr. Jones told us what had happened - "

"We came as soon as we could – "

"I brought some brownies that I made yesterday – I know how you love my brownies – "

"Have they caught the guy who did it?"

Sam saw Dean shift uncomfortably in his chair, and held up his left hand to try and still the overwhelming influx. The chatter immediately died down and his four classmates looked at him expectantly.

"Um. Wow. Thanks, guys. I – um. Thanks." Sam felt overwhelmed with their love and concern. Dean looked at him questioningly and Sam felt himself flush slightly.

"Um, guys, this is my brother Dean. Dean, these are my classmates from AP English: Joan, Sarah, Matt and Geoff."

Dean nodded in their direction and shook the proffered hands. He sent his patented charming smile in the direction of the two girls, in particular Sarah who had baked the delectable looking brownies. Hot _and _a good cook? Sammy had been holding out on him! He watched as his little brother interacted with his classmates, smiling with a light in his eyes that Dean hadn't seen there often lately. As he talked and laughed with them, he looked carefree somehow, despite the painful injuries all over his body. He looked happy. As this realization sunk in, Dean felt a sickening sensation settle into the pit of his stomach. Maybe Sam was right; maybe he didn't belong in this life. Maybe it would be more loving of Dean to let him go…

As these morose thoughts were filling Dean's mind, he managed to catch the last few snatches of the conversation. Sam was answering a question.

"No, I don't know whether they've caught the guy – I don't even know who did it. I honestly can't remember much from that night."

"That's shocking!" Joan, Dean seemed to recall her name was. "I bet you it was a drunk driver. Y'know bars should not be allowed to carry on operating if they let people like that drive home – it's criminal."

Sam smiled ruefully. "Yeah, well. Some of these bars are so full of people, it's hard to keep track of everyone. Anyway, it happened on kind of a lonely road, so I doubt there's any camera footage or anything. He probably won't get caught, but I guess that's just life sometimes, huh?" He sounded resigned.

Dean frowned, feeling anger that had briefly been forgotten in his overwhelming concern for Sam, be renewed. Sam's resigned acceptance of the injustice made every big brother fibre in him cry out for blood. No one messed with his Sammy and got away with it. No one.

~ O ~ O ~ O ~

Sam's friends left after a while, and after the initial rush at seeing them had worn off, Sam felt, if anything, worse than before. Feeling Dean's eyes on him, he looked up to see his brother watching him with a slightly hurt expression.

"So Sammy, how come you've never mentioned your friends before? They seemed nice enough."

Sam frowned and looked away from Dean's questioning green eyes. Instead he looked down at his hands, one of which was resting in a sling.

"I don't know. It never seemed to come up, I guess." Which was partly true.

"Dude. They're your _friends. _Why didn't you ever invite them round or something? They seem to like you, although goodness knows why." Dean smiled slightly on the last statement, trying to force the joke, but it didn't quite meet his eyes.

"Ha. Yeah. Invite them round? And how do you think Dad would have liked that, huh? 'We do what we do and we shut up about it'," he mimicked John, voice bitter. "I'm sure he would have _loved _it if I invited my school friends around."

Dean raised his eyebrows at the bitterness in Sam's voice and felt the sickening sensation in his gut grow stronger.

"But you could have told _me_, Sam. I'm not Dad. I would have liked to meet your friends."

Sam looked up at the hurt in Dean's voice and felt his face flush with shame. "You're right, Dean. I should have told you and I'm sorry. I guess I just thought that if I kept them separate from my home life, that I could pretend to be normal too. But I was wrong. I'll never be normal. Especially now that I've been banged up right before finals. I mean, I can hardly even sit up straight enough to feed myself; how am I supposed to study, let alone write exams?"

Dean watched his little brother with concern and felt another sensation start to form in his gut – a burning resolve. The sick feeling did not disappear, but the burning was stronger. He might not like the idea of his brother leaving, but he also didn't like seeing his brother defeated and miserable. So whatever it took, he was going to help him.

"Hey Sammy. Don't worry about that, OK? I'll help you study."

Sam looked at him with unflattering disbelief. "You? Dean, you hated school."

Dean swallowed his pride. "Yeah, I did. But hey, who said an old dog can't learn new tricks, huh? I mean, you seem to like it so much, so there must be something to it."

Sam snorted. "Yeah right. Since when has me liking something ever been a recommendation to you, _especially_ when it comes to work?"

Dean shrugged; he couldn't deny that. However, "So? You need help, and that's my job isn't it? To help my little brother in his hour of need?" He smirked.

Said little brother laughed out loud. "Well, when you put it that way…" Hazel eyes met green, and an unspoken _thank-you _passed between them.

Dean felt the sick feeling ease a little; no matter what, they would always be brothers. "No problem, Sammy."

~ O ~ O ~ O ~

Nighttime was approaching and Dean was doing his best to stifle his yawns. Nothing got past the perceptive youngest Winchester though.

"You should get some rest. Go back to the motel, Dean. I'll be fine here."

Dean examined his brother carefully. "You sure? I don't like to leave you here alone."

Sam gave a little laugh. "Dude, I'm hardly alone. I'm surrounded by other patients, not to mention the nurses and doctors who check on me constantly. I'll be fine, and you need to get some sleep – you look like crap."

"I don't think that's physically possible, Sammy, but I take the hint. I've got something I need to do anyway."

Sam raised one eyebrow. "Oh yeah? What?"

"Nothing you need to worry your pretty head over, little brother." Dean stood up and stretched, joints popping noisily. "You've got your mobile, right?"

Sam nodded. Sylvie had given it back to him after she had used it to phone Dean.

"Good. Call me if you need anything, OK? _Any_thing."

Sam nodded again, a small smile on his face.

"Well, nighty night then, little brother. I'll take this," he picked up the box of brownies and winked at his brother, "seeing as you can't eat them right now and we wouldn't want them to go to waste, would we?"

Sam's smile transformed into a bitchface as he watched his brownies disappear into the recesses of Dean's jacket.

The older Winchester smirked at his expression. "Don't let the bed bugs bite, Sammy."

"Dude, this is a _hospital. _I doubt there are bed bugs."

"Well, don't let the nurses bite then – see you in the morning!" And smiling cheerily, he left before his brother could utter more than a stifled exclamation of disgust.

However, once he was out of the room, the cheery smile gradually slid off his face to be replaced with a set look of determination. Dean had a score to settle. He cracked his knuckles in anticipation…

**To be continued…**

**A/N: **So, what did you think?:-D Oh, and how AWESOME was Friday's episode? I was on a giddy high for DAYS! Yay for Sam and Dean being Sam n' Dean again! And Sammy's BACK, baby!


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **I hope you enjoy this chapter - this is the last one I have written, although I have started work on chapter twelve...Don't worry - the big confrontation between Dean and Frank Harding is in the next chapter:-D And may I assure you, when you get to the end of this chapter and feel rather confused (as I have a feeling you might!) I have _not _lost my marbles! There is, as always, a logical explanation;-)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them...

**Butterfly Effect**

**Chapter Eleven**

By the time Dean got to the bar, it had started raining. Pulling his leather jacket over his head, he made a dash for it and succeeded in getting inside only slightly wet. Brushing the raindrops off his clothes, he made his way to the counter, where a pretty young woman in a very revealing top was serving. Smiling at her lasciviously, he placed some cash on the countertop and ordered a beer. As she busied herself with getting his order, he busied himself with admiring her rather ample assets.

"Anything else, sir?" She grinned at him and leaned forward suggestively.

Dean looked at her longingly and sighed. "Sorry, but I'm actually working tonight."

"Oh?" He noticed with a certain amount of smug satisfaction that she looked disappointed. "What do you do?"

"I'm a cop." He pulled out one of his numerous fake badges, "Officer James Page."

If possible, the information that he was a cop seemed to make her even more attracted to him. She lowered her eyes and peeked up at him through long false eyelashes.

"Well, Officer Page, what are you working on tonight? Anything I can help with?" Her voice lowered to a husky, seductive timbre.

Dean cleared his throat. "Well, maybe." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "I'm actually working on a hit and run case – a young boy was hit by a drunk driver in a black sedan last night."

She looked appropriately shocked. "Oh, that's _awful. _Is he OK?"

Dean contemplated his answer for a moment, then shook his head, deciding to go for effect. "No, he didn't make it; he died on the way to the hospital. I'm just trying to get some justice for his family, and seeing as this was the bar that was closest to the site of the accident, I was wondering if maybe someone here knew anything…" He let his voice trail off and looked at her expectantly.

The girl shook her head sadly. "Sorry, I'm new here so I don't really know all of the customers yet. I really hope that you catch whoever did it though." She looked sincere and Dean gave her the benefit of another of his charming smiles even as he felt his heart sink within him.

"Thanks anyway. I guess I had better be off then." He downed the rest of his beer with a gulp and turned away. As he was leaving, he felt a hand land heavily on his shoulder. Finely honed instincts kicking in, he whirled around, fists already up to defend himself.

'Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean any harm." The tall but slightly built man backed away, hands in the air. "I just couldn't help but hear what you were sayin' just now and I thought maybe I could help you."

Dean's ears pricked up. "Oh yeah? How?"

"Well, I happen to know someone who drives a black sedan."

Dean was all attention now. "Yes? And?" His words were clipped and authoritative. The man backed off a little further, looking nervous.

"His name is Frank Harding. He comes here quite often. Cheap drunk. Tends to keep to himself. Don't like him much to be honest; heard he was cheating on his wife. I wouldn't be surprised if he was the guy you were looking for."

Dean narrowed his eyes in thought. "What does this man look like?"

"Tall, big belly. Kinda balding on top."

Dean nodded. That was the guy alright. "Do you happen to know where Frank lives?"

"No. Like I said, he keeps to himself."

"Right. Thanks – that's all I need to know for now." And Dean turned on his heel and left. He had a phone call to make.

~ O ~ O ~ O ~

Bobby Singer flushed the toilet and made his way over to the ringing phone. It seemed like it never stopped ringing these days; one hunter after another wanting something from him, generally information, but sometimes more practical help. Sighing deeply, he picked it up.

"Hello?"

"_Bobby?"_

"This is he. Who might this be?"

"_It's Dean Winchester."_

"Dean?" Bobby couldn't be more surprised. "I haven't heard from you in ages, boy. Not since I chased your daddy out my back door in '99. How're you and Sammy keeping?"

"_Well, that's kind of what I'm phoning about actually. I need some information."_

Bobby sighed. Trust Dean not to be phoning simply for a catch-up conversation. "Yeah? What's new? What d'you need to know?"

"_I need to know the address of a Frank Harding. He lives in Seattle and drives a black sedan."_

"OK. Why do you need to find this guy so desperately? He a werewolf or somethin'? I heard your daddy's on a werewolf hunt at the moment."

"_He's not a werewolf. He hit Sam with his car and drove off." _Dean's voice thrummed with barely-contained fury over the line, and Bobby felt shock and anger flood his own veins. Sammy Winchester was just a kid and someone would do that to him?

"Is Sammy OK?" He had to know that first, before he could do anything else.

"_He's pretty banged up, but he'll be OK. Frank Harding won't be though. Not after I find him." _The cold certainty in Dean's voice sent a chill down Bobby's spine, even though it wasn't directed at him.

"Well, I can't say I pity the bastard. I'll get digging and get back to you the moment I find something." And he hung up with a click. Never had he felt so personally motivated in his research before.

~ O ~ O ~ O ~

Sam groaned as he tried to move into a more comfortable position so he could sleep. The unexpected arrival of his school friends and Dean's constant company had helped to distract him thus far, but with Dean and Dad both gone, he had nothing left to take his mind off the gnawing ache that seemed to penetrate his very bones. Staying still hurt, moving hurt, hell, _breathing _hurt. Lying there, he could not decide which pain was worse: from his right leg came a sharp stabbing agony, as though a piece of glass was wedged in his shin, his right shoulder ached dully, sending cramping tendrils down his arm, and every time he breathed his lungs were pierced with shooting jabs of pain. Moaning lowly in his throat, he tried to shift himself again.

"Sam? Are you OK?" Sam stopped his efforts to cast his eyes in the direction of the soft voice. That nurse, Sylvie?, was standing there, a look of concern on her face.

"Everything hurts." He hated to complain, but maybe she would be able to do something to help. She frowned and came over to his bedside, picking up the folder at the foot of his bed as she did.

"Hmm. Well, I'm not surprised. Ever since your hematoma, they've had you on more low-grade pain meds, so we can monitor your consciousness and awareness level. However, I should think enough time has passed now for it to be safe for you to have something more powerful again. Let me go and check with the doctor on duty. I'll be back just now."

Sam nodded slightly as she left. Hopefully relief would be coming soon.

~ O ~ O ~ O ~

Six hours later, Sam awoke with a start, heart pounding and sweat pouring off him. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he saw that it was four in the morning. Vaguely, he noticed that the pain was gone, but frankly in that moment he couldn't care less. Struggling to sit up, he began to fumble with the IV coming out of his left arm, but his fingers were clumsy and his right arm was incapacitated by a sling of sorts.

"Sam? What are you doing?"

Sam started, and looked up to see the night nurse looking at him in confusion. Feeling his heart rate increase still further, he backed away as much as he could, feeling the headboard hard and unresisting against his spine.

"Stay away from me."

The nurse's expression changed from confusion to concern and she began to approach the bed.

"I said _stay away from me._" Sam looked around him for something to protect himself with and grabbed the chair by the bed, pulling it towards himself. The nurse continued to approach the bed slowly.

"Sam. It's OK. I'm not going to hurt you. You need to calm down."

"No, I'm not going to _calm down. _Who are you? What am I doing here?"

As the nurse said nothing but continued to steadily come closer, Sam hauled himself from the bed, landing heavily on his uninjured leg, which buckled beneath him. Pulling himself up, he grabbed the chair and held it in front of him like a shield.

"I'm not going _anywhere _with you, you bitch."

The nurse looked shocked, which didn't make sense. "What have you done with my brother?"

"I haven't done anything with your brother. He went home for the night. Don't you remember, Sam?"

"_Don't lie to me. _I know you've got him somewhere. _Where is he? _**DEAN!**"

Sam's sudden shout broke the relative quiet of the hospital as voices echoed down the corridor outside and footsteps came running.

"Sam. You have to calm down." The nurse was still trying to placate him, talking to him in a soft, reasonable voice even as she edged ever closer.

"Stay away from me! I want my brother! DEAN!"

**To be continued…**

**A/N: ***laughs evilly* So, what did you think? And I would LOVE to hear your theories on what's up with Sam!:-D


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: **Sorry for the delay in updating - life has been pretty hectic lately and then one of my friends got me hooked on _Fringe..._Let me just say that it is an AWESOME series and I highly recommend it - it is on a par with _Supernatural _in my mind, and you know how much I love our show:-D So do give it a try - you won't regret it!

Anyways, this is the chapter that you've all been waiting for, so I hope it lives up to your expectations! I can't wait to hear your thoughts on it!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them.

**Butterfly Effect**

**Chapter Twelve**

_Previously:_

"Sam. You have to calm down." The nurse was still trying to placate him, talking to him in a soft, reasonable voice even as she edged ever closer.

"Stay away from me! I want my brother! DEAN!"

_Six hours earlier:_

Dean stopped the Impala across the road from the address that Bobby had given him and examined the small house at number 24. Whilst very much like the other houses in this area in basic structure and appearance, it had clear evidence of being well cared for. The grass in the front yard was trimmed and the pathway up to the door was lined with flowers, which had clearly been planted by someone with an eye for colour. Whilst the paint on the walls was peeling in places, no dirt was to be seen. In short, it was not the sort of house that Dean had expected someone like Frank Harding to belong to.

Getting out, he made his way to the front door and rang the doorbell. There was a pause, and then he heard light footsteps making their way towards the door; footsteps that most certainly did not belong to a man of Frank's stature. There was the sound of a bolt being slid across and then the door opened to reveal a tired looking young woman, wearing an apron over her dress and holding a baby in her arms. It appeared that she had just been baking because she had a smudge of flour on her nose. Dean noted that, whilst not strictly pretty, she had a kind face with lovely large blue eyes; eyes that currently were framed with dark shadows, suggesting lack of sleep. That and the premature lines on her forehead would seem to indicate that she had been under quite a lot of stress lately. A small head peered around her skirts, and Dean looked down to see a little boy, no more than four or five, staring up at him with open curiosity. The woman reached down with her free hand and rested it on her son's dark curly hair. Dean noticed that her ring finger had a faint line of white around it where no sun had reached – a remnant of where a wedding ring had once resided. This must be Frank Harding's wife and children.

Seeing them in the surrounds of this worn, yet loved-for home, Dean wondered how Frank could have treated them like he did. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing more important than family, and seeing the stress and tiredness in Mrs Harding's eyes and the two little children whose innocence would never quite be intact again, the righteous anger in Dean's chest burned even hotter. No parent should leave their children of their own volition. When his mother had left them, she had had no choice, and yet look at the damage it had done. Frank Harding had _chosen _to abandon his family; there was no excuse for that.

"May I help you?" Mrs Harding was looking at him expectantly, eyebrows raised in question.

"I hope so. Are you Frank Harding's wife?"

A look of pain flashed through her eyes, quickly hidden. "I was, yes. But he doesn't live here anymore."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Although if truth be told he was relieved – he didn't want to confront the man in front of his family, however much he deserved it. "Do you know where I could find him?"

"Uh, last I heard from him he was at a motel somewhere – The Scarlet Letter, I think it was?" Dean suppressed a smirk at the irony. Moteliers and their ridiculous attempts at fancy names.

"Thanks. That's all I wanted to know. I'll let you get back to your baking now." He turned to leave.

"Wait." He looked back at her. "Is Frank in some sort of trouble?"

Dean's smile didn't meet his eyes. "It's nothing that you need to worry about ma'am. Just a debt that he hasn't paid."

She nodded, a faint line of concern between her eyebrows. "Frank was never good with money. Well, I guess…I guess you have to do your job then."

Dean dipped his head in acknowledgement, but at the same time felt the first vague stirrings of doubt. Despite everything he had done to her, Frank's wife still didn't want him to be hurt. She still loved him. On the surface, such unconditional love seemed irrational, beyond comprehension even. And yet, Dean realised, maybe it wasn't so foreign after all…

~ O ~ O ~ O ~

Dean raised his hand to knock on door number 18. This was it. And whilst anger and a thirst for revenge still burned in his gut, there was also a hesitancy that hadn't been there before. A hesitancy that was grounded in the face of a young woman with flour on her nose and a worried furrow between her brows. If Dean was honest with himself, he was still deciding how exactly he was going to proceed.

The door opened and Dean looked up into the sweaty, pudgy face of Frank Harding. He was wearing a wife beater (how appropriate) and boxers, and from the smell of things was already well on his way to being drunk.

"Hello Frank. I don't suppose you ever thought you'd see me again, did you?"

Frank looked down at the handsome young man in front of him, alcohol-fogged mind sluggishly trying to work out why he seemed familiar.

The man pushed past him into the room. "No, I guess you wouldn't remember me. You were too smashed at the time for anything to really register. I gotta say, Frank, you make a piss poor drunk. You'd think with all the drinking that you obviously do, you would have learnt how to hold your liquor by now, but looking at you, I'd have to say apparently not."

The man was speaking pleasantly, almost as though he were here to simply make conversation. The cogs in Frank's brain were still churning.

"Who're you?"

"Well, look at that – it speaks! My name is of no concern to you, Frank. There are few things that define me in life. One of them is that I almost never lose a fight. I've been training since I could walk practically, and I've gotten pretty damn good if I say so myself. The other is that I'm a big brother. A big brother whose little brother is currently banged up in the hospital because some bastard drank too much and ran him down on the streets last night. Any of this sound familiar to you?"

A cold insidious feeling of fear started to curl in Frank's stomach. He did vaguely remember driving into someone last night, but he had been too drunk to care and had kept on going…The fear however was coming from the fact that he was starting to remember why the young man before him looked familiar. He was the dangerous-looking man from the bar!

Dean saw when the light of recognition came into Frank's eyes, followed quickly by fear and guilt.

"Ah, you're starting to remember….Yes, I am the man from the bar. And I've come to do what I should have done last night."

And with these words, he drew back his fist and punched Frank in the face, with a sickening _crunch. _Frank's vision went black as he raised a hand to feel his throbbing nose, stumbling clumsily backwards. Dean followed up with several more punches, to the eye, the jaw, the mouth. Frank collapsed to the floor, blood flowing freely down his face and chin. The last thing he heard was the man's voice whispering in his ear, "You're lucky your wife still loves you, otherwise you'd never see the light of day again. And if I ever hear of you hurting someone again, believe me, it will be the last thing you do."

The world faded away with Dean's footsteps and the closing of the door.

~ O ~ O ~ O ~

Dean awoke with a jolt as tinny rock music filled the room. Glancing at his alarm clock, he saw that it was 4.15am. Groaning, he swiped a hand over his eyes and reached out for his phone. Fumbling with the buttons, he found the right one and pressed.

"Yeah?" His voice was still hoarse with sleep.

"Is that Dean Winchester?"

"Yeah, this is Dean. What d'you want?"

"Mr Winchester, I'm calling from the hospital. We need you to come right now."

Dean sat up, the last remnants of sleep falling from him like a shroud. "What's wrong? Is Sam alright?" Already he was out of bed, and pulling his jeans on with his free hand.

"That's the problem, sir. He seems to be having some sort of mental breakdown and he won't let anyone near him. He's calling for you."

Almost as if her words had triggered it, Dean could hear his brother's voice in the background yelling frantically, "DEAN! What have you done with my brother? I want my brother!"

Heart pounding, he scooped up the keys to the Impala and made his way to the motel door.

"I'm on my way. Tell him I'm on my way." And he hung up.

_Hold on, little brother, I'm coming._

**To be continued…**

**A/N: **I would LOVE to hear your thoughts on this chapter:-D And fear not - you will find out what is wrong with Sam in the next chapter;-)


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: **OK I know it's been a while since I updated and I'm so SORRY! Varsity has been crazy this year and I have exams coming up in 2 weeks' time (!) and then I'm going overseas for my brother's wedding, so yeah, busy busy busy. This chapter has been sitting uncompleted on my computer for months now and I finally decided that I had better just get down to it and get it written - I can't make any guarantees about when the next chapter will be up though, I'm afraid - probably not for a while:-( Thanks so much for all your awesome reviews - it totally makes my day whenever I hear from any of you and I really hope you enjoy this chapter!:-)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them.

**Butterfly Effect**

**Chapter 13**

Dean burst through the hospital doors, bypassing reception and making his way directly to the doors leading to the wards. A guard, different from the one before, stepped in front of him and blocked his way with a raised hand.

"Sorry sir, you can't go in there. Visiting hours aren't till later. Only medical personnel can go in at this time of day….night."

Dean was straining his neck frantically, looking around the man to see if he could spot Sam anywhere. Turning back to the guard, he looked him up and down quickly and gave him the Dean Winchester patented death glare. When the man didn't back down, he switched tactics, adopting a pleading expression, eyes wide and earnest and lips trembling slightly, hoping that it would work for him as well as it always had for Sammy.

"You gotta help me, man. Some nurse phoned and said my brother was going into cardiac arrest or somethin' and he was calling for me and they didn't know how long he was gonna have and I don't even know if he's still alive and…." Dean sniffed slightly for good measure. "Please. He's my little brother. I gotta see him."

The guard's expression softened slightly and Dean thought for an instant that his plan had worked, but then the man seemed to mentally shake himself and all softness disappeared.

"I'm sorry sir. Orders are orders. I can't just let you in there without permission from above. I'm sorry."

Huh. So near…and yet so far. Dean didn't want to make a scene but the thought of Sam's voice, so desperate and vulnerable, pleading for his brother, hardened his resolve.

Sizing the man up, he made up his mind. "Screw this. I'm going in." Feinting to the left, he slipped around the guard's right and sprinted down the corridor, the sound of shouting and heavy footsteps echoing in his wake. Dodging trolleys and nurses, he raced towards the Step Down Unit, heart pounding in his chest. Glancing briefly behind him, he saw the guard, who was surprisingly fast for his size, steadily gaining on him. Putting on a last desperate burst of speed, he swung around a corner, only to crash into Sylvie who was coming from the other direction, carrying a tray. The tray and its contents went flying and Sylvie would have followed suit if Dean had not reached out a hand to steady her whilst simultaneously steadying himself against the wall.

"Woah, are you OK? Sorry, I didn't see you there!"

Sylvie knelt down to clean up the mess of scattered objects, glancing up at Dean with a look of confusion and shock. "Dean, what's the matter? Why are you running in the hospital – you know that's against regulations? Is everything OK?"

Dean could hear the guard's heavy footsteps getting louder and started to move past Sylvie, side-stepping the debris of various medical implements as he did so.

"I'm sorry Sylvie, I can't talk now. Sam needs me." And with that imperative still pounding through his veins, he turned his back on her puzzled expression and continued to run in the direction of Sam's room.

~ O ~ O ~ O ~

Even though Dean's life's work involved saving people from nasty things, never had he been greeted with such palpable relief as when he walked through the door into Sam's room, and never had he felt so murderous towards the people he was supposed to be saving. From the state of the room, it would seem that Sam had put up quite a fight before being overcome and behind the red haze that was currently blurring most conscious thought, he could still feel a twinge of pride. No Winchester went down easy.

That however, was truly at the very back of his mind right now, because the moment he entered the room the sight that greeted him drove all other thoughts into the darkest recesses. For despite the struggle that he had clearly put up, Sammy _had_ eventually been overcome and was now lying, wrists and ankles restrained, in the bed, tears leaking out of his hazel eyes as they sought out his big brother. He had clearly been sedated shortly before Dean arrived, because his eyes were already starting to droop and the movement of his head as he turned it and his fingers as they twitched was sluggish.

Dean hurried over to the bedside, ignoring the sounds of the security guard arriving out of breath and the medical personnel explaining to him everything that had happened. Crouching down beside his brother, he took the hand that was twitching and squeezed it, a silent reassurance. Sam's restless fingers immediately relaxed.

"Hey Sammy, I'm here now and everything's gonna be OK. What happened?"

Sam swallowed convulsively, a few more tears trickling down his already wet cheek and catching on the new growth there. Dean made a mental note to help his little brother shave tomorrow; if it was him or Dad they wouldn't mind a bit of stubble, but Sam liked to keep clean-shaven.

"What happened, Sammy? You can tell me."

"I dunno, Dean. I just…woke up and I just knew that they wanted to hurt me and that something was wrong but you weren't here and I was scared."

It was Dean's turn to swallow convulsively as Sam's words sent guilt shooting through his veins like mercury. "I'm sorry Sammy. I should've been here; I shouldn't've left you. This is my fault."

Sam's brow crinkled in confusion. "Not your fault, Dean. Y'needed rest. N't your f…." His words faded into silence as his eyes drooped once again and stayed shut this time. A thin trail of drool trickled out of his half-open mouth onto the white starched pillow. Dean smiled down affectionately at his oversized little brother and then turned back to the medical staff who had remained, it would seem, to witness the reunion after sending the irate security guard back to his post. As his eyes met theirs however, the smile slid off his face like butter off hot toast.

"What. Did. You. Do. To. My. Brother?" Each word was cold and carefully enunciated. One of the younger nurses gulped audibly. After a moment of awkward and scared silence, the head nurse stepped forward.

"We had to restrain him sir, as he was hurting himself and was also a danger to others. He had a severe reaction to the morphine we gave him and started hallucinating. As it will take a while for the morphine to wear off, we had to sedate him in the meantime to help him calm down. I'm very sorry that this had to happen, sir. Once the morphine wears off, we will put him on different drugs which shouldn't cause an adverse reaction like this again."

Dean brushed off her explanation with a wave of his hand. "Look, I don't care what caused it, just get those things off him now! He's not hurting anyone now, is he?"

"No sir. We'll do that right away, sir."

Dean nodded and turned away so he could watch his brother be freed from his restraints. When it was done, he pulled up a chair by the bed and sat down.

"Sir, do you maybe want to sleep somewhere more comfortable? We have more comfortable chairs, if you want?"

Dean glanced up at the timid young nurse who had gulped earlier. "Thanks, but no thanks. I'm not leaving him again."

She nodded and left the room quietly. Dean leaned back with a deep sigh and closed his eyes, slowly drifting off to the soft, steady breathing of his little brother.

~ O ~ O ~ O ~

Over 100 miles away, in a small town off the reservation, John Winchester flew through the air and landed with a sickening _crunch _against a barn door. Through the steadily growing ringing in his ears, he could vaguely hear Joshua shouting something but couldn't quite make it out. His last thought before he lost consciousness was that he should have listened to Dean...

**To be continued...**

**A/N: **I would love to hear your thoughts!:-D


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